


Breathe Underwater

by ZarAlexander



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, I cried while writing this., I feel like crying, Quite depressing, T_T, Victor's POV, omg, why do I do this to myself?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8946565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZarAlexander/pseuds/ZarAlexander
Summary: Was that what he had been doing all along? Raising a wounded animal from his ashes, elevating his raw talent to the stars of glory? [Victor's internal monologue, spoilers for episode 12, read at your own risk.]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taimi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taimi/gifts).



> SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 12, AKA END OF SERIES.
> 
> ***
> 
> Victor's internal reasoning leading to his decision to go back to skating.
> 
> Inspired by this awesome song:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VccYMDTSgYY
> 
> I have written it while listening to this, so maybe you should read it while listening to this too?
> 
> As usual, English is not my native language. As usual, I will likely not fix the spacing. 
> 
> Gifting this work to Taimi, as she's in love with the series.

 

There was something magical in how happiness and sorrow could coexist in the same instant.  
Etched in front of his eyes like a beautiful painting, he was moving, blades cutting the ice so gracefully and yet retaining the fierceness of a wounded animal.

They grazed the glaring surface like claws, excruciatingly ripping apart the darkness and insecurity. Still, ever so delicately, there was something spellbinding in the never ending beauty he sketched with every flexion of his muscles, in every step and every jump.

Was that what he had been doing all along? Raising a wounded animal from his ashes, elevating his raw talent to the stars of glory?

No.  
Very few strokes of such a magnificent display were actually his own.

He had maybe adjusted the shapes, he had polished the edges, brightened the colors. But all that pain, all that love, all that thirst for glory and revenge and self-affirmation?

None of that was his. None of that was _him_.

He closed his eyes and he was suddenly back in time.  
Back to that hospital bed, back to that single moment, that microscopic frame in time and space when he had stopped existing in the way he had conceived all along.

A nerve disease, they had said. Progressive, more than likely.

It wasn't fatal, no, of course it wasn't. That would have been a blessing.  
His life would still be there, in a year, in two, in twenty. He would just slowly lose sensation in his extremities. He would lose balance. He would lose coordination.

But his life would still be there, in the same way you could still call a flower the scattered mess of petals gathered around the vase once it withered.

At the peak of his splendor, running away had been breathtakingly easy.  
Tiny excuses nobody could refute ended up piling up slowly over time, like the pieces of a puzzle nobody but himself could see.

Cutting all ties would have been merciful, indeed.  
But he wasn't a merciful being, no, he wasn't someone who could just embrace his salvation with dignity.

Just like accurately pointing a dagger to his heart and then applying pressure in increments, he had turned his deliverance into a torturous punishment, laughing at his own bewilderment the moment he noticed his hands were bleeding.

He opened his eyes and he was swung back to the present.  
But only for a brief second, because a force bigger than himself threw him farther still, to a time when he believed the world was at his feet, to when he was invincible.

Yet, there was something more to it, a trail of illusory hope sparkling with every flake of ice those blades touched, a path beaconing him to a light he had disavowed a long time before.

It was like looking in a mirror where all eternity merged into a seamless string.  
His past moves, learned through years of sweat and sacrifices, the present of Yuuri's affirmation, the future...

What did his future hold?

Would he ever be able to skate like that again, would he get to feel his heart beat in harmony with the music, with the blades, with his soul? Even just one more time?

Yuuri would.

So he could step back, couldn't he? And bathe in the selfishness of vicariously savoring his existence again, inhaling sharply whenever a fragment of air would come his way in his sea of self-suffocation.

And that would be enough.  
Or, at least, it _would_ have been enough, hadn't his very oxygen decided to retire.

Had he seen through him? Had he read his vile intentions like an open book?

Had he known all along?

One more jump on the rink and his heart sank.

He had always known.

Even as a wounded animal, he was still strong enough to chase and corner him, to confront him with the harsh truth of how pathetic he was.

If only he could just step into the ice himself, if only he could skate his fears away, if he could grab Yuuri's hand...

Would that be loud enough to shatter the silence, to break through the surface?

He had learned to breathe underwater, yet now his lungs were spasming in pain.

He had educated himself.  
He had tamed his spirit, shredded his pride, stomped onto his emotions until nothing but dust was left enabling him to enjoy the bliss of feeling nothing at all.

So why was he now longing to relish into everything he had so tirelessly repudiated?   
How long did he even have left, before his body would star in the final act of its betrayal? Six months? A year? Two? Would it even be worth it? Just to be out there one more time, to have all eyes on him and him alone?

In the godless universe he had built around himself alone, who could he even turn to?

The music stopped and Victor Nikiforov raised his gaze.

A finger showed him the answer.

 

 

**\- The End -**

 


End file.
